Joey Abbott was next, followed by Kyle Foster, Eric Lofland and then Ben Barnett. As each took their turn, they seemed to be competing, each trying to outdo the other with the force of their blows. Brandon-Lee gave them a show every time, wailing louder with every stroke. After the twelfth, though, he stopped begging his punishers not to do this.

After fifteen, at the halfway point, Rory Stevenson called a time-out to examine the prisoner. The whip had taken on a red hue from the blood it had excised from Brandon-Lee. The whole crowd closed in as Rory examined the stripes across the prisoner’s back. Blood trickled from a few, but mostly they were just angry welts.

Victoria pleaded silently for the doctor to intervene and call it all off.

“They’re only superficial,” Rory proclaimed. “The punishment can continue.”

“No,” Brandon-Lee whined. His face was beet red and streaked with tears. “Please. I can’t.”

George Simmons patted the prisoner’s chest with his open palm—it was really more of a slap. “Cheer up, kid. You’re halfway there. You can start countin’ down, instead of countin’ up.”

Victoria was surprised by the number of women who stepped up to exact revenge. Equally surprised by the forcefulness of their blows. Seeing this boy bleed was important to them.

After twenty blows, the pace of the punishment slowed. There wasn’t a line anymore where the scourge was passed from one person to another like a baton in a relay race. But people still stepped up.

Caleb Emerson stepped up to be number twenty-four. Victoria sensed that he was deliberately not meeting her gaze. He took his position behind the prisoner and stood there for a solid ten or fifteen seconds.

“Take your turn or get out of the way!” George Simmons taunted.

Caleb set his feet for a forehand baseball stance. He drew back and let loose. His swing was off-target, though, cutting a stripe that was more along Brandon-Lee’s side than his back. That seemed to open a brand-new window of pain for the prisoner.

Mike Underwood, the kid with the working El Camino, took the twenty-seventh swing, but there wasn’t much behind it. Carol Robinson, who looked ready to give birth at any second, was number twenty-nine, but her swing was deliberately soft. The final blow came from Maggie, who surprised Victoria by unleashing a massive blow that launched a howl of pain and caused Brandon-Lee to raise both feet off the ground.

“I’m sorry, Brandon-Lee,” Maggie said. “The last two were really soft blows. I was gonna do that, too, but I needed you to leave with a real memory.” If her blow had been with something rigid, it would have broken his back. She looked like she might get sick as she handed the scourge back to Victoria.

“That’s all there is,” Victoria said, dropping the scourge onto the pavement. “It’s over. George, please let Brandon-Lee down.”